Beyond the Setting Sun
by ALF
Summary: High elf and blood elf. Alliance and Horde. Meditation and absorption. Two different races that share so many similarities. Introducing the chronicles of such a pair - the rifts that divide them and test their love...
1. Prologue Glimpse of Nightmare

**BEYOND THE SETTING SUN**

**A Warcraft fanfic by Alfbie**

_Disclaimer: Based off the characters and events of the Warcraft universe, copywrite by Blizzard Entertainment and affiliates. I make no profit from this story._

**Before You Read: **Every chapter is written in the first-person point of view. However, the narrator will not be the same for every chapter, to exercise the essence of Warcraft - tension built upon misunderstanding. The narrator of each chapter will be identified, except for the prologue, in which that narrator is purposely left anonymous.

**~~ BOOK ONE ~~**

**Prologue - Glimpse of Nightmare**

_18 months after the fall of Quel'Thalas to the Scourge..._

I hated myself, hated anything and everything that was sin'dorei. If only I could control my addiction, little Linese would still be alive now. Ostus would still be my best friend. I'd probably be running my restaurant. I'd be blissfully oblivious to our pretentious society, just as blind and ignorant as the rest of them. What I wouldn't give to have that.

Instead I was a mana addict, a murderer and a coward. People like me deserved to die. I continued to sob ruefully, bitterly, into the moist earth and the sweet-smelling grass, knowing that I needed nothing more than to return to Silvermoon City, to allow anyone there to tear me limb from limb, to let Ostus finish me off in any cruel, deserving way he could think of. Whatever he needed to do to lessen his pain, ease his sorrow.

Where was I, anyway? A quick look around confirmed that I was still in Silvermoon, though in an area of our vast city that had yet to be restored. This area still captured the time of the third war, buildings now piles of rubble, thrashed items strewn everywhere. No one had lived here for a while now, the place devoid of all life. I noticed an unpleasant musty-sweet smell then, like something rotting. A quick glance in front of me determined that the smell was from a large puddle, almost a pond, long gone stagnant. I had almost fallen into it.

Ignoring the stench, I scooted closer to the foul water, gritting my teeth against the pain shooting in all directions though my body from my numerous injuries, leaning precariously over the water to glimpse my reflection. My tear-reddened eyes widened as I studied myself. Pale-white skin stretched over a narrowed face, thinned to a sickly frame from my weight loss. My tussled hair, streaked in blood, hung in large clumps to my skull, bits of it missing. I hadn't realized I had lost so much already. My eyes were still a fierce fel-green shade, a color I'd come to loathe, heavy purple bags hanging under them as though I had never known sleep. I missed the bright blue glow of quel'dorei eyes, that all of us elves once possessed.

Was this what a Wretched looked like? I had never seen one myself, only hearing about the outcasts of our society through rumors and gossip. I barely recognized myself, a new wave of sadness washing over me. So this is what I had become – a monster, both by appearance and by action. I would surely die as such.

"Another one joins our ranks."

I gasped, not realizing there was anyone nearby. I had gotten used to sensing people before even seeing them through feel of their magical energies. Why didn't I sense this?

I whirled around, coming face to face with what I at first thought was a true monster. Sunken eyes glowing a hollow shade of blue stared intently at me, framed by a grin lined in jagged, rotting teeth, skin as white as the moon. He or she – I couldn't tell – hunched over, me, something green and glowing that I couldn't quite make out protruding from its back. It fidgeted almost constantly, in tiny, jerky motions, eyes occasionally darting about, fingers twitching, feet shuffling as though ready to break into a run at any moment. The elongated ears and slight frame gave this creature away as an elf; I realized at once that I was looking upon a Wretched.

"They always come here crying," came another voice behind me and I turned my head to see another approach. They moved so silently amongst the debris despite their fidgeting, like phantoms in this forgotten, ravished piece of our city's past. Both wore grime-stained, tattered clothes, as though they had hadn't changed or washed in years. The awful stench permeating from both of them was proof of this.

"I'm not one of you," I found myself replying in a whisper, though I knew I was every bit a part of them. I had killed for my addiction, succumbed to my cravings, allowed my slavery to magic to consume me. Though I knew I belonged here, I could not resign myself to live with such filth. I showed remorse for what I had done, regret, and I wished whole-heartedly to find a way never to do what I did again. Surely that set me apart from the others, didn't it?

The first one laughed, the sound bitter and empty in my ears. "We are all the same – you, me, even _them_." It emphasized with a jerk of the head towards the direction of the rebuilt, civilized Silvermoon, where those that had yet to succumb to their darkness resided. "They just have yet to realize this."

"But they'll all come around in time," the second one drawled with a sinister, crooked grin. "Our numbers grow every day as more and more of them finally embrace what being sin'dorei truly is. They cling to their old quel'dorei habits, thinking that they are different somehow, but they have yet to truly evolve, to truly _become_. Accept your fate – you're one of us now, a true blood elf."

"Not quite yet." This voice was new, right next to me. I jumped, turned my head, almost colliding noses with this new Wretched, it was so close to me. I could feel its breath on my skin, smell its gut-turning stench as it leaned towards me. I cringed away, but this Wretched pressed forward, eyeing me intently…hungrily. "This one hasn't completely turned yet."

"Come off it," muttered the first one, "you know they don't have to look entirely like us to be completely turned. That's just the end result."

"Ah, but this one…" it paused to grin at me, a predatory hunger in its gaze. I realized at once that I was the prey here instead of the involuntary predator. And I was also surrounded. "…this one still has a little untainted magic flowing through his body. His mana flow has not yet grown completely corrupt, completely inconsumable like ours."

The others stopped their constant, nervous fidgeting, all eyes on me, analyzing me.

I swallowed, a new kind of panic beginning to rise. These beings would certainly kill me if I stayed here too long. But how was I to escape them? My eyes quickly scanned the area for anything I could use as a weapon. My father had been a sword smith – I was well-trained in the art of wielding blades of all sorts. The _art_ of it only, for I had only ever used my skills to demonstrate how various blades could be handled – a sword dancer, of sorts. I had never actually been in combat, had never hurt anyone in such a manner. How would I fare defending myself from these creatures? But of course there was nothing sharp conveniently within my grasp.

Why would I even want to make the effort to save myself anyway? I deserved to die after what I had done – let these Wretched kill me as they drained what magical energies I had left within me.

Perhaps I hadn't made my loved ones suffer enough. Perhaps I had not done enough despicable evil in this world. Whatever the reason, my instinct for self preservation was too strong for me to ignore; I could not even bear the thought of allowing these creatures to snuff me out, let alone actually doing it. I hated myself for it – no better than any other cowardly criminal.

They all looked at me now with the same starved longing the third Wretched did, and I knew that my time was rushing to a very abrupt end if I did not do something soon.

"You're right," the first Wretched murmured, licking its lips, the sickening sound turning my stomach. "I can see it now, if barely, what's left of his untainted mana. This one hasn't completely turned yet."

"I wonder how long his energy can numb the pain," the second one rasped eagerly, and the other two chuckled in response. They all tensed their bodies at once, crouched to spring, fidgeting bodies suddenly morphed to still, coiled, focused killing instruments.

Fear took a choke-hold on my mind, giving away to instinct, and I acted, kicking the debris I had tripped over as hard as I could towards the first Wretched. I did not wait to see if the kick had connected, instead whirling around, moving forward even as I scrambled to my feet.

I could feel hands grabbing at me, claws digging into my skin, but I literally tore through somehow, ignoring the stinging pain against my skin as I broke through the snarling mob. I took off in a dead run, hearing their angry growls and desperate cries just behind me, feeling the thundering of their feet beneath my boots. I did not dare look back, did not dare think as I pushed forward.

I had expected their moves to be more animalistic; I expected to be outrun at once, surrounded and pounced upon like a pitiful human hunted by some horrifying beast of myth, but these Wretched didn't seem to move any faster or better than I did, frantic to gain as much ground as I was.

I didn't fare well to begin with, occasionally stumbling over debris of some sort, feeling the lash of claws as they tried to capture me. Still, I did not stop, my fear pumping adrenaline through me, fueling my body to push forward, my new temporary high. Admittedly it did offer a bit of relief against the Sunwell withdrawals, my mind and body too occupied with my current situation to dwell on the pain of my everlasting addiction. I welcomed this relief, embraced it like a hawk soaring through an unblemished sky as I ran ever onward. I hoped to never stop, to never let this new high end, even though raw fear tainted it, even though my lungs burned, my legs ached, and every injury on my body stung like a thousand red-hot needles pricking my skin.

The uneven ground of a ruined Silvermoon soon gave way to rolling hills, grass beneath my feet, dark shadows of trees cris-crossing what the moon could not cover. Still the wretched pursued me, so desperate for even the tiniest mana hit. Their noises did not cease, and it did not seem to slow them down either.

I didn't feel tired – the fear exhilarated my mind, but my body must have been otherwise, betraying me as I tripped over a rock. I hardly noticed the pain, a light flash of light against my vision, barely felt the _crack_ as I broke my foot against it, the ground rushing up to meet my face.

I twisted my body to cushion my fall and cried out, painfully realizing that the piece of glass that I had fallen onto when escaping Ostus was still imbedded into my arm as I skidded roughly across the dirt on my shoulder, feeling the glass slice down my arm from the force of my fall. I barely had time to register this new, intense pain, did not have time to move in reaction to it before the Wretched were on me at once, like piranhas to meat. The weight of their bodies as they tackled me took my breath away. All I could hear was snarling, panting, lashing teeth. I could feel them tug at my limbs, feel their fingers dig into the flesh of my shoulders, my back. I writhed uselessly against them, but they had me pinned face-down into the dirt. At least I wouldn't see their faces as they killed me.

A strange new pain came over me. Iit felt as though my blood were acid eating away at my body- bone, then flesh, then skin, to finally dissipate into calm night breeze. My involuntary scream filled the air, this sensation intensifying the pain of my withdrawals a hundred fold. I never fathomed that the pain that I once thought unbearable could actually get worse, my vision reddening and blotched with stars, all my other senses shut down save for the feel of this monstrous pain. That was when I realized that these Wretched were mana-tapping me. I continued to scream, fighting hard now like a fish in the jaws of a bear, knowing in despair that this was what little Linese must have felt in her last moments of life. This was the pain I must have inflicted upon her. I stopped struggling then, wanting to also stop my screaming but I couldn't, allowing these creatures to devour my despicable soul.

This was it, this was my end. I found myself strangely unafraid of it at that moment. Would Ostus eventually find my body? Would it give him some sort of closure, some sort of peace to see his daughter's killer dead? Would a funeral be held for me or would they just dump my body somewhere? Who would mourn my death? Anyone? No one? Faces flashed across my mind. Among them, Ostus, his face whole and unscarred, grinning goofily at me. Sylann, my first love and colleague, rolling her eyes at me as she always did, stress written on her face as it always was, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. Katlayna, her thoughtful expression, large, bright smile, the gentle blush that always colored her cheeks. Would I still be with her now if I had decided to accompany her to Stormwind a year and a half ago? I would have avoided the Scourge invasion on Quel'Thalas entirely, would maybe still be a high elf, with her, happy.

I could feel my consciousness begin to slip, witnessing now my last seconds of life - the unrelenting pain and the memory of Katlayna's sweet smile that I would never see again...


	2. Chapter 1 A Way of Life

**BEYOND THE SETTING SUN**

**A Warcraft fanfic by Alfbie**

Disclaimer: Based off the characters and events of the Warcraft universe, copywrite by Blizzard Entertainment and alliliates. I make no profit from this story.

**Chapter 1 – A Way of Life**

_One and a half years before the fall of Quel'Thalas to the Scourge._

_Written in Katlayna's point of view_

_Priestess Liadrin,_

_It is with great enthusiasm that we have accepted your apprentice, Katlayna Lightsong, to extend her studies within Lordaeron's Church of the Light. Her exceptional skill in the healing arts and healthy enthusiasm of the Light's Virtues, along with the recommendations of you and the Bishops of Quel'Thalas, has assured us that she will make a wonderful asset within our ranks and will grow to be a fine priestess of the Light._

_Accommodations in Lordaeron are currently full. If Sister Katlayna still wishes to study as a holy priestess, she will have to do so in our Stormwind church. If this suits her, please respond to this letter promptly. Space has been reserved for her if she chooses to accept._

_Congratulations and kind regards,_

_Archbishop Benedictus of the Holy Light_

I stood off to the side of the small chapel as the wedding ceremony unfolded, hardly paying attention as I read the well-crinkled letter for probably the thousandth time since Sister Liadrin presented it to me months ago. The priestess, my mentor and guardian for as long as I could remember, droned on and on at the altar as I silently read, her voice echoing against the tall stone walls and high, vaulted ceilings of the church. A large crowd of elven citizens sat amongt the pews listening, most only pretending to look interested. Our humble little church, nestled in the heart of Silvermoon City, the only one of its kind, hosted many weddings under the blessing of the Light this time of year, almost every weekend. This particular wedding was no different than any other, Sister Liadrin reciting the gospel more by heart than from the Holy Book, I struggling to look attentive.

The bride's gown was gorgeous--she was a beacon of shimmering-white beauty, her carefully pinned blonde hair glossy and full atop her head, her cheeks rosy, delicate jewelry adorning her neck, long elven ears, and arms. Her radiance almost rivaled that of our Queen's, and I wondered if holding a union under the blessing of the Light was so important an indication of good social standings to spend a small fortune on looks alone. Despite her elegance, she looked a bit uncomfortable, occasionally shifting her weight from one foot to the other to relieve the pressure her beautiful yet impractical shoes bore on her feet, wiggling in her dress ever-so-slightly to try to relieve the itchy tug of lace against her skin.

I felt a little grateful to be in my robes--a dull white and silver, formal enough to wear in almost any occasion, plain enough to not draw unnecessary attention to myself. There was no mistaking, from my drab appearance alone, that I was a member of Silvermoon's only small and humble church of the Light – a church that produced some of Azeroth's best healers.

Despite my inner praise of practicality over appearance, I couldn't help but feel that slight tug of envy upon looking at the bride. Though I kept my deep red hair loose around my shoulders, probably my only good asset, it never bounced and shone like that of the bride's. I never did anything special with my hair, did not wear makeup, and did not own a single nice dress; I never had the time or the money to fret over such things. But I was a young woman, after all, and what woman did not dream of her wedding day--to be the center of attention the entire day, the most beautiful girl in the room, pampered and spoiled to capacity, the envy of all that had yet to experience what she had? I suppose this must be why traditional weddings of the Light such as this were becoming such a popular fashion amongst quel'dorei society of late--our ceremonies were overly flashy, stuffy, and too bloated with the illusion of a high-class event. To Quel'Thalas, getting married in a church of the Light was merely another way to show off status, to establish one's bragging rights in society. No guest in this room actually followed the Light, and that I felt disgusted over. The religion was exploited for fashion, status, and a tool for those that wished to take from the Light nothing but the ability to heal. To most high elves, the Light was in no means a way of life.

Suppressing a sigh, stifled by the very constrictiveness of the air, I moved along the rows of pews to the back of the church, grateful that I had the option to escape for fresh air when the guests did not. As a member of the church, I had enough excuses to protect me from the ongoing boredom of a wedding. Besides, I needed to leave anyway--I still had to finish packing for my long and trying trip to Stormwind.

I swallowed back my fear as I slipped emotionlessly out the side door into the yard. Just thinking about moving so far away made me homesick--I had known no other place other than Silvermoon. What would living amongst humans be like? I could not express my fear of the trip, though--fearing the unknown would just make me a hypocrite against a faith full of unseen events and unexplainable reasons. Besides, the trip was entirely to strengthen my faith. Thinking about living amongst the dwellings of an original house of the Light, to study amongst _human_ clerics, the original followers of my faith, excited me enough to deal with the fear and face the long trip ahead. I knew that after spending some time in Stormwind, I would come back a better priestess, and therefore a better person.

The yard was gorgeous, a product of quel'dorei attention to detail and fondness for outdoor beauty, even amongst us stuffy followers of the Light. Lush green grass covered the expanse of the land, not a single weed to be found in its turf, the yard decorated with large bushes of aromatic purple, blue and pink flowers. Willow trees and oak trees hung over this expanse, drawing soothing shade and a more relaxed atmosphere. The leaves of these trees shimmered in the sun, hazy rays of light breaking through their canopy, the slight breeze adding an almost whimsical value to the place. I loved coming here at times when the yard was quiet and empty to catch up on my studies. The place never ceased to relax me, holding so many fond memories of when I was a little girl playing here.

I grew up at this church, an orphan blessed enough to be found and raised by the patrons here. I don't remember my parents, didn't know how I came to be an orphan. All I knew was the church, and all the people bound to it. Unlike most of the others who came and went with the seasons just for training in the healing arts, the Light was my life, the church my home.

Today, however, my tranquil yard had become marred with tables covered in heavy white and gold cloth, several burdened with pots and trays of various food stuffs. Servants worked over last-minute preparations for the soon-to-be wedded couple and their party. Places were being set with very delicate-looking gold and white plates, wine glasses that I was sure were made of real crystal, and other such things. The mouthwatering aroma of heated food lingered in the air, the last of the decorations being fastened in place, extra seats being drawn out, imported plants in enchanted, hovering pots being arranged just so. A small band of harps, lutes, drums, violins and flutes was busy setting up, the sounds of the band tuning ringing lightly in the air. The couple had fallen for the whimsical beauty of the yard and wanted to hold their reception here.

I resisted a frown as I weaved around these busy people in the direction of the large stone dormitory on the other side of the yard, where most of us of the Church resided. My quiet, serene yard had turned into a spectacle of sorts; I did not care to see all of these people here, especially those that were not faithful to the Light. But part of the Light's philosophy was to welcome everyone with open arms and kindness, so I could not turn them away, could not turn my nose up in the air in reaction to my displeasure of faithless citizens taking advantage of what I held dear. This intense, overprotective nature I had of the Light, thus my extreme exclusiveness of people, was one of the things I was to abandon the familiarity of home to mend.

I turned my head to the side as I moved, observing the many chefs apply the finishing touches of their food, not really paying attention to anything else. I knew the yard so well--I could move so confidently around here.

My confidence, however, misled me, as I roughly bumped into something, hard and cold--metal, the force of the contact sending me a few small steps back. A covered tray full of food on a small, light table clattered to the ground, the noise echoing throughout the space. Sliced bits of fish garnished in some sort of creamy sauce spilled at my feet, settling into the grass. I snapped my head up, mortified, eyes wide as I scanned the area surrounding me. Everyone had paused from their work, staring at me and the spilled contents, some in shock.

I could feel my cheeks heat with an intense blush, undeniably embarrassed over the situation. I knelt down, grabbing at the plate and cover, cringing at the sharpness of everyone's stares on me as I tried to figure out what to do with this runny mess, and all the grass-tainted food.

"Oh, no!"

Someone knelt beside me and I glanced to see a male elf pick frantically at the bits of food in the grass, dressed in the stark white attire of one of the chefs, his long blonde hair tied back messily but effectively at the back of his head. He appeared around my age, probably one of the assistants here, his looks and appearance none out of the ordinary. He seemed horrified as he scooped up bits of food with his hands and dumped it on the tray beside me. The fish was crushed, all of it covered in dirt and grass. The food was certainly ruined.

"I-I'm sorry," I managed, overcome with guilt, as I helped him clean up the mess. "I wasn't watching where I was going. I'll do whatever it takes to atone for my foolishness, I--"

"Duskfall!" We both paused to look up at a strikingly beautiful woman with shoulder-length brown hair tucked back behind her ears, also dressed in the plain white clothing that marked her a chef. "The ceremony's over; everyone will be outside in a few minutes." Her voice was stern, giving me the impression of her superiority amongst the chefs, but her eyes brimmed with worry, sweeping from him to me to the mess in front of us.

The other chef sighed and gritted his teeth. "Get the ingredients for the sauce ready right away, Sylann," he ordered, his voice firm, as he continued to clean up the mess. "I want no complaints from the others. Everything needs to be ready by the time I make it back to the kitchen."

The woman nodded. "Yes," she replied crisply before turning on her heel and scurrying away.

I paused my work on the spilled food, so stunned I was by this elf's surprising commanding presence, confused by who the true head chef was. Then I remembered what I was here for in the first place and dived back into picking bits of fish from the grass, feeling absolutely miserable.

"If you want to help," he commented a few moments later as he stood up, and I blinked, realizing that he was referring to me, "then come with me."

I sprang to my feet as he started to move, glancing down at the grass in front of me. Aside from the now glossy appearance of the sauce-covered grass, the area was very clean, not a speck of food to be found there. I blinked again, surprised at how quick and thorough he was with his cleaning, then trotted to catch up as he headed towards the side of the church, tray of spoiled food in hand.

He was taller than he first appeared, standing almost a head above me. He moved at a brisk pace, so full of energy, as I almost had to jog to keep up. He weaved in and out of servants franticly applying their last minute touches to the yard, the tray of spoiled food and its contents seemingly glued to his fingertips as he balanced it all expertly with one hand, raised high above his head to be able to easier slip through the throngs of people as they worked. I occasionally bumped into someone, not as graceful and sure of my body's equilibrium as he was, muttering apologies and flashing glances long enough to assure myself that my clumsy body hadn't ruined some finer detail of a project. The other elf dumped the contents of the spoiled food in a nearby trashcan while walking by, his movements fluid enough that he did not falter his step in doing so.

Finally, we entered the church, sweeping around the back hallway to the hot, stuffy kitchen. It was tiny and modest, suitable enough for simple clerics like us, and thankfully almost empty as most of the chefs and servers were outside awaiting the wedding party. An assortment of various ingredients surrounded a small bowl on the thick, wooden table, awaiting us.

"Pull up your sleeves and wash your hands," he ordered as he dipped his own hands into a basin of soapy water. He washed them quickly, snatching a towel to dry them off as I tried to keep up with his movements.

He bent forward beside the table to a rather large metal basin filled with ice, plunging his hands into it. He rummaged around for a second to pull out a large, plump fish, about the length of his forearm, slapping it on a spotless cutting board.

"What's your name?" he asked, pausing to look directly at me, leaning on both hands flat on the table.

"Uh, Katlayna," I managed to answer, a little flustered at how suddenly direct he was.

The chef nodded. "Those ingredients there," he motioned to the array of spices and such on the table beside me, "mix them together to make the sauce. There should be enough of everything to make one batch, so you don't have to worry about measurements."

I stared at him, flabbergasted. I had never really cooked anything before. I wasn't trained to be a housewife, hostess, or anything of the sort. I was trained to be a priestess, too much in love with my studies to bother taking interest in anything else, including cooking. It had gotten me in many arguments with some of the clerics here in the past – basic life skills were important, according to them. However, I wasn't good at anything not directly related to the Light, did not have the drive to waste my time with such things. Why did I have to cook now when there was a perfectly capable chef standing right in front of me that could do it instead? I certainly was not going to be the cause for this wedding party's ruined meal! "I can't do this!" I protested, glancing at the contents on the table warily. "I don't know the slightest thing about cooking and--"

"Just do it!" His voice was stern, crisp, harsh enough to kill my words in my mouth. I simply stared at him, wide-eyed, as he stared right back, his gaze boring into mine. "There's no time to argue, just mix everything together and stir. I would not give you such a brainless task if I didn't figure you could do it."

I narrowed my eyes and glared back at him, certainly not liking being told what to do, but he held his gaze steady, unrelenting in his request. Finally, I sighed, grabbing the small block of butter, soft from the heat of the room, as I looked away. I couldn't help but blush despite my dark mood, probably due to my anger.

I watched him from the corner of my eye as I began mixing herbs together with the flour. He grabbed a large knife from the assortment of them mounted carefully on the wall in front of us, a boxy, menacing-looking thing. A butcher knife, perhaps? I knew very little about cutlery. Without hesitation, he swung the blade down, cleanly chopping off the fish's head with one stroke. I jumped from the force and noise of the movement, almost spilling the tiny pitcher of water I held to pour with the rest of my ingredients. He, however, did not even blink.

He chose another knife, much smaller than the first, with a narrow blade, and began the process of skinning and deboning the fish into fillet strips. I had watched fish cleaned and prepped for consumption by clerics here before--the task was always messy and time consuming, scales and bones everywhere, and never much actual flesh would be left from just one fish. But this elf...Duskfall as he was referred to earlier, was an expert with the knife, cutting under the skin on the bottom-side of the fish as though it were butter to a heated knife, his aim impeccable as he slid the fish smoothly across the stilled blade, removing as little of the flesh under the skin as possible. I almost forgot my own task as I watched in amazement him clean and debone the whole fish in a couple of minutes, then grabbing another knife to slice the body of the fish down the middle in half, and then into smaller, bite-size pieces, removing more bone as he went. What a talent he was at prepping fish--I had never seen such efficiency in doing so! I turned back to my own task, trying to remind myself that he was a professional, this was his job, therefore I shouldn't be at all surprised by his performance.

The sauce mixed well, taking no time at all to blend, and I could catch hints of vinegar in its aroma.

"Looks finished," he murmured as he snatched the bowl right out of my hands, dipping a tiny spoon into the mixture.

"Hey!" I protested in surprise as he brought a small sample of the sauce to his lips to taste.

"It's suitable, good." Using a different spoon, he poured half of the sauce into another bowl. "Clean up the mess around us quickly and grab a clean tray from the back," he ordered. I obeyed without protest, seeing it pointless to argue. We were almost done anyway.

By the time I had finished cleaning the fish skin and bones, had put the dirty dishes away, and fetched a fresh silver tray, he had the sauce-covered fish in a large, long-handled frying pan, hovering over our wide, shallow fire pit in the center of the kitchen to cook it. This set up of an open, chimney-less fire in the middle of a simple yet organized kitchen was common in our country of Quel'Thalas, the room enchanted to keep the place smoke-free. He pushed the fish around in the pan with a spatula, the combined force of the sounds of sizzling fish and the delectable aroma it gave off making my stomach grumble to be filled. I had yet to even have breakfast. He moved away from the fire, the fish cooked just enough to sear the edges, and dumped it in the rest of the sauce, using the spatula to mix it together as it cooled. He then instantly got to work arranging the bits of fish into tight, layered circles on the tray I provided. I tried to help as best as I could, my half of the circles sloppy, his efficient hands placing his fish in place perfectly the first time with enough time to nudge my pieces a bit to be more presentable. With that task done he snatched the towel from the table, quickly wiping off his hands and tossing it to me to do the same. He sprinkled crushed bits of something green onto the bits of fish to make them look more colorful, then loaded the tray onto his hands.

"Come with me," he ordered as he moved briskly towards the doorway. I followed, glancing briefly out the window to see the newlywed couple and their guests spilling into the yard, choosing their seats amongst the dressed tables. Just in time!

I followed the chef to the doorway as he pushed it open with his foot, sunlight flooding into the room all at once. I squinted against the sudden brightness, the chef just a silhouette against the light of the late summer morning.

"Ready?" he muttered to me.

I nodded, though his back was to me, making my gesture ineffective.

"Thank you," was his reply, though I was certain he did not see me nod. Then he turned to flash a smile at me before confidently striding across the yard to where the rest of the food awaited.

I paused at the doorway, his quick grin still flashing in my mind. Such a radiant smile, and so very warm! I hoped no one could tell I was blushing as I moved to join him, angry at myself for being so easily flustered over something as insignificant as a man's smile. It was not the first time a man had ever smiled at me. What was so different about his smile?

"Thank you all for coming," the groom gushed in a clear, loud voice as I made my way around the tables of seating guests to stand beside the chef. A few female voices in the crowd squealed in response to his voice, and it took everything I had to resist rolling my eyes.

The groom was all smiles, a very attractive elf with shoulder-length dark hair, a perfect, chiseled body, and the radiant face of a god--sharp nose, square jaw, cleft chin, straight, white teeth, pouty lips, large but hard blue eyes. I had seen him before--he was the son of Silvermoon's chief of armed forces, his house well-respected among Quel'Thalassian society. Too many times had I heard the other sisters of the church gush over beautiful Ostus Sunstorm with looks that could make any woman swoon. Well, almost any woman. Too busy I was in my studies of the Light to waste my time fawning over a man that would never give me the time of day. Well, perhaps he would if I were willing to offer what he often sought after in women. I cared about my studies and my faith too much, however, to waste time spreading my legs before a pretty face of someone who wouldn't even know so much as my name the next day. But this was Ostus Sunstorm, a man that, until almost a year and a half ago, was never seen in social get-togethers without a woman on each arm. Most of my fellow sisters had occupied his company on at least one occasion, but they were all merely students of the healing arts, with all the time and freedom to spend with men like Ostus. Despite being easy on the eyes, I held no interest in him. Besides, I could never be so shallow as to fall helpless to a handsome smile.

Duskfall's grin of earlier flashed through my mind, and I pushed it stubbornly from my thoughts.

Ostus's blushing bride clung to her new husband's arm with pride. It was clear that she was happy with her catch, and wanted everyone to know about it. In a way, I was glad Ostus was finally marrying and settling down, though a year and a half's worth of moaning and whining from the other sisters about why he couldn't have chosen one of them was getting quite tiring. One big advantage to getting out of Quel'Thalas--I would not hear anyone waste their thoughts on Ostus again. I hoped humans weren't quite so ridiculous when it came to matters of the heart. Still, though, I wondered what kind of woman his bride must be to get promiscuous Ostus Sunstorm, of all people, to settle down.

The chef and the other servants stood behind the large table full of very tasty food, the delicious aromas making my stomach growl. Each servant stood straight and attentive, hands behind their backs. I studied them, wondering if I should follow suit or simply stand as I was, since I wasn't a caterer, server, or any other working merchant like they were, but I suspected I was still indebt to the accident of earlier.

"Go help serve drinks," came a whisper and I glanced up to find the chef looking at me from the corner of his eye. He motioned with a slight nod of his head towards a wine bottle in front of me on the table.

I frowned, not wanting to wander from table to table serving alcohol like some bar maid, but I complied, knowing how foolish my mood was. This was nothing like a bar, and I was in no means dressed the part of the chambermaid. So off I went, pouring wine into crystal glasses from table to table along with a few other servers while the groom gave his enthusiastic speech about this joyous occasion. I tuned out most of his words, not caring for what he had to say-- I've heard it all before anyway. This was not the first fad-laden wedding of the Light I had seen here, and wouldn't be my last. It was all the same.

Eventually the bride spoke, then each of the wedding party one by one. I only half-heard them all, too busy serving wine while my mind wandered elsewhere. I still needed to finish packing. When would I be relieved of this duty to do so? I also hoped Sister Liadrin was not expecting me for something. I was around only as extra help for the wedding in case it was needed, but still... Being here bored me, and if I wanted to be a server I would have chosen that lifestyle instead of an apprentice priestess! I could feel my tolerance of this grow thin, though I kept a welcoming smile plastered to my lips.

Then I heard his voice. My focus was drawn to it like a magnet, as though no one had spoken a word until him. His voice smooth and clear, I couldn't help but pause to look up. Why was the chef speaking anyway? He was just a servant! Usually they did not join in on these wedding reception speeches.

"As the groom's best friend, I was originally chosen to be the best man at this wedding," he began, holding himself in confidence as he spoke.

Best friend of Ostus Sunstorm! I knew Ostus was popular, with a large social circle, but I never knew any details of his friends. Hardly holding interest in Ostus himself, why would I listen to gossip about his silly friends? Besides, such details were often overshadowed by how perfect and coveted Ostus was. Now I wondered what kind of person would make a best friend of a wealthy, charismatic, obnoxious, womanizing socialite anyway. At least it explained why I'd never seen this chef's restaurant cater at any other wedding here before.

"At first I accepted, honored at the title," the chef continued. "But then I decided that it would be much more honorable for Ostus and Giselle if I instead catered to his wedding. My finest work, the pinnacle of my skill, the fruits of Ostus's support and faith in me over the years is finally presented on his wedding day. I have never been more proud, and I have ensured only the best food in this memorable occasion. Here's to Ostus and Giselle, and for what is sure to be a long, happy life for them!"

"Damn straight!" Ostus quipped with a handsome grin as people clapped in response, tipping his already half-drained wine glass slightly in the chef's direction. I could hear women in the crowd titter over Ostus' expression. "You always know how to please a crowd, Barian!"

_Barian._ I looked at the chef with renewed interest, as though knowing his name would somehow change his appearance in some way. It didn't, of course, but I couldn't help but stare anyway. I wondered if he was as obnoxious as the groom--he certainly was confident about his food!

"Um, priestess?" came a whisper. I looked down to see a seated guest raise his wine glass to me, patiently waiting for it to be filled. I had stood there gawking at this Barian for so long I had forgotten I still was not done serving guests. I apologized, snapping back into focus, pouring a generous amount into the guest's glass to compensate for the wait. I continued forth, listening to Barian's words as I did so.

"Please come up and sample our food. Eat as much as you like; there's plenty to go around. Enjoy yourselves and thank you for coming."

I frowned, expecting, for some reason, a more profound speech from the groom's best friend, something more interesting and unique than it was. Why would I care anyway? I shook my head in agitation as someone else began to speak, tuning out the words as I did before.

The talking ended as I finished my rounds, people lining up at the tables as I returned to my original position beside Barian to return the empty wine bottle.

"I hope I was enough help," I commented, probably more curtly than I had wanted, as I set the wine bottle down. "It was nice to meet and work with you, Barian Duskfall. Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

"Help serve the guests," was his comment as he passed a pair of tongs to me.

I frowned displeasingly at them as I grasped them in my hand, but did not argue. "Fine, I'll help serve the guests, but afterwards I must go and attend to my own duties."

Barian didn't respond to me, instead smiling at a hungry wedding attendant being picky in deciding which mouthwatering piece of lynx roast to have. I ignored my stomach's protests once again as I served the guests the display of colorful vegetables laid out before me.

The line seemed endless as I served guest after guest. It never seemed this crowded in the church! I was certain more people had arrived since then, probably to take advantage of the free food, dancing, and wine.

I sighed, forced my frown into a smile, and continued to serve until finally the last guest sat back down with a plate full of food.

_Finally!_ I thought to myself as I discarded the tongs on the table. I looked around, not seeing Barian anywhere while others began tidying up the food tables. I decided it best to just escape unannounced this time, not wanting to find myself with yet another annoying task.

Smirking to myself for giving Barian the slip, I turned around to leave and almost bumped into him carrying a large stack of dirty serving trays. I gasped in surprise, startled and grateful that I did not knock something over this time.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked casually, as though asking about the weather.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "To do my job," I answered, which consisted of packing, and probably cleanup at the alter for tomorrow's sermons.

"There are still dishes that need to be collected, and they all need to be washed. Our dishwasher didn't show today, so we need someone to take care of that."

What, again? And not even a thank you. I seethed, tired of his rude, pushy nature.

"Do I look like a servant to you?" I pressed heatedly, under my breath so as not to cause a scene amongst the guests. "I am a priestess of the Light in one of the most prestigious, well-respected churches in all of the Eastern Kingdoms! I have my own tasks to complete today! I am sorry about the food I knocked over earlier, but I'm sure I have more than compensated for that right now! I have no time to be your lackey! Now, _excuse me_, I must leave."

I stood there, fuming, satisfied that I had finally said my peace as I glared up at the chef.

He stared calmly back at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "So I guess that means you'd rather pay the cost of the food you wasted by so carelessly running into it?"

I tilted my head up triumphantly. "Sure."

Barian narrowed his eyes at me, squaring his shoulders as though mentally prepping himself for a challenge to fight. "The fish is a rare species of salmon that exists only up here in the North Sea," he began, anger edging the calm tone of his voice. "They are most suitable for eating during the time they swim inland via the rivers to spawn, but they must be caught at the mouth of said rivers when the flesh is just right. Not very many can be caught or else there'd be no salmon left, and there aren't very many to begin with. Therefore, the fish you so haphazardly knocked onto the grass is considered a delicacy, and a favorite snack within House Sunstrider. The sauce, though very simple to make, contains rare herbs found only in the farthest regions of the continent, therefore they cost a fortune to import. It's the herbs that put the price tag on our native delicacy. Ostus, the groom and my best friend, paid a lot of money to have this appetizer, and others, served at his wedding. I also did, out of my own pocket, partly because Ostus is my friend and partly because House Sunstrider had been sent in invitation to attend this wedding and I had hoped someone from there, even a mere representative, would show up and taste my hard work. But, of course, no one from House Sunstrider is here, not surprising I guess considering the bride is only the king's cousin's son's latest girlfriend's best friend and royalty would not be caught dead in a shabby backyard wedding such as this, but Ostus could not afford a more glamorous wedding and I'm a fool but that is beside the point. Someone that does the tasks you've done so far normally is paid 40 copper an hour. The appetizers you ruined, which ihad/i to be one of the most expensive trays here, costs 700 gold just by itself. My coin bag is feeling pretty light right now, so by all means, if you're volunteering to pay for the food, I'd be most appreciative."

I simply stared at him, flabbergast, as he stared calmly back at me. 700 gold! I had no idea the fish was so expensive—to me it was just a giant, smelly animal and the herbs were just crushed and dried bits of leaves from somewhere. "I-I cannot pay that bill!" I stammered. "I'm only a priestess."

Barian frowned, extending his heavy load of dishes to me. "Then you know where the kitchen is. There's a tub of hot, soapy water already waiting for you. All you need to do is get started."

I could only glare, knowing that I had lost my argument here, and took the stack of trays from him. I gasped at its weight and staggered towards the church.

"How do you church people say it," Barian remarked, "ah yes—Light be with you." And with that, he walked away, leaving me fuming and defeated.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N

Chapter trivia!

* Liadrin and Archbishop Benedictus are both NPCs in World of Warcraft.

* Benedictus is a priest trainer found in Stormwind City's cathedral – he also holds a lot of lore.

* Liadrin is Lady Liadrin – formerly a paladin quest giver in Silvermoon City. Currently she is the NPC that periodically shows up in Shattrath to inquire and lament with A'dal on the future of the sin'dorei. She was the first blood elf paladin (blood knight), and the first to turn her back on the Light to use to her will by taking advantage of the captured M'uru's power.

* Sylann is also an NPC. She is the cooking trainer found in one of Silvermoon City's inns.

* "House Sunstrider" is referring to the royal family, meaning that Barian wishes to someday cook for the likes of Kael'Thas Sunstrider (the Tempest Keep and Magister's Terrace boss). At this chapter's point of the timeline, no elf believed Kael evil (and I'm sure Kael wasn't "evil" then). I'd like to think of him as the elven prince his people hardly knew – he spent more time studying in Dalaran than actually taking practice in ruling his country.

* Everyone else mentioned are characters of my own creation – Katlayna, Barian, Ostus, his bride, etc.


	3. Chapter 2 Whirlwind

**BEYOND THE SETTING SUN**

**A Warcraft fanfic by Alfbie**

_Disclaimer: Based off the characters and events of the Warcraft universe, copywrite by Blizzard Entertainment and alliliates. I make no profit from this story._

**Chapter Two – Whirlwind**

_Written in Katlayna's Point of View_

I never knew weddings could be so dirty, disgusted at the pile of dishes in my arms as I stepped into the kitchen. Its crowdedness took me aback--I never knew so many people could fit and work into such a small space. Various types of food had been strewn out on every table, at least three people at each table working diligently to blend these ingredients into mouthwatering dishes. Each station supported a different food group--vegetables covered one table, knives flashing across its surface as cooks prepped them. Another table sported stacks of saucers, several cooks blending liquids together into delectable flavors. An enchantment controlled many of their spoons, stirring on their own to free up time for the workers. A table existed for meat, a table for pastries, and so-on. Cooks bustled back and forth from the fire, removing and adding cauldrons of soup and sauces, loading meat onto enchanted spits that hovered over the fire and spun by themselves. The smoke from the fire dissolved into the air, the enchantment to keep the air clean still strong in this room. Enchanted brooms and mops weaved around the busy cooks while enchanted rags pushed themselves across bare portions of tables, keeping the place in constant sanitary order. The room was sweltering--our church too poor to afford a climate control enchantment, cooks pausing to mop at their sweaty brows with rags. Sylann, the female chef of earlier, moved from table to table, lending a helping hand when she could. Her role in the kitchen was obviously a supervisory one. Never had I seen our simple church kitchen like this--I never knew our dismal, outdated space was capable of supporting restaurant-quality food.

I found the tub of soapy water in the storage room next to the kitchen, an impressive pile of dirty pots, pans, and saucers already stacked around it. Arming myself with an apron so as not to soak my robe, I pounced on the task, still miffed earlier by Barian's words. I had no idea one plate of food cost so much! I felt bad for wasting it, but still, the attitude was uncalled for! It was a simple accident—anyone could have bumped into that tray and knocked it over. Besides, I was a priestess of the Light! I had no time to deal with little kitchen tasks, not to mention I was leaving Quel'Thalas tomorrow. It would take someone _months_ at a measly 40 copper per hour to pay that food off. It simply could not happen.

I stewed over Barian as I scrubbed the dishes. My frustration boiled over as various servants began to stack more dishes beside me. It was obvious some of the guests had finished eating. Why couldn't there be a dishwashing enchantment?

I tried my best to keep up, but the dishes kept piling faster than I could get them clean. I never knew elves could eat so much—when was this going to end?

After a while my shoulders and back began to ache from hunching over the tub, my hands going raw from being submerged constantly in hot water, my stomach begging for food. I had long since given up on the race against the stacking piles of dishes, almost engulfed by them, instead trying to focus on at least getting them as clean as possible.

At one point I paused to peer through the doorway into the kitchen, seeking out any sign of lifted activity which would signify an eventual break for me. The kitchen was as busy as it was before, though this time Barian had joined Sylann in making rounds. It was clear that they were the head chefs of this group, and the nods of respect they drew from each cook as they weaved around the room was unmistakable. I glared as I watched Barian move, doubting very much that he'd lend me a hand with my mountain of a workload.

He stopped by the vegetable table, helping a cook that looked rather flustered and overwhelmed with his workload, his nervous posture indicating that he was new. Sylann joined them, the two head chefs chopping through the food in mind-numbing speed, though they both looked relaxed despite the exertion. They chatted, Barian throwing a smile her way, she responding with a light chuckle that just managed to ring over the steady clang and bang of the busy kitchen. It was clear that they had known each other for a while, and were comfortable with one another. The look she gave him when he looked away from her and down at his work was that of utmost respect and something more--something I had seen before from other people, mainly couples. I squirmed in place, somehow bothered by the look she gave him. Why would I be? They were colleagues, probably friends, and maybe even lovers or married to one another--his personal life should be of no concern of mine. I frowned, irritated that Sylann's attitude towards Barian would bother me, then jumped as someone opened the door to drop another stack of dirty plates by the tub. I sighed, slinking moodily back to work.

I wished for night to arrive as I finally finished several stacks of bowls, resenting the fact that the sun was still high in the sky, therefore there were still many hours I had left to suffer through this. The busy kitchen sounds did not stop, did not lighten, the cooks keeping up with the appetite of wedding guests. If they would stop making food, people would stop eating and I would no longer have so many dishes to clean. The delicious smells colliding and wafting about didn't help matters, as it only increased my hunger. When was this going to end?

Someone else stepped into the room. I swallowed the urge to glare at whoever dared to bring me even more dishes, glancing over my shoulder to see who it was.

Barian.

I snapped my head forward, afraid that my anger would get the best of me. Suddenly that bit of stuck on food in the pot I was wrestling with became a lot easier to scrub off. "You have some new task for your slave to do?" I snarled.

"Take a break," was his simple answer.

I let the pot sink into the tub, turning to face him. "A break?" I snapped. "That's all? You—"

He thrust a plate full of fresh, hot food my way, effectively cutting off my words. I took it away from him gingerly, taking all I had not to snatch the food and gobble it down.

"Thank you," I managed curtly before scooting off to a corner. Just about a little bit of everything was on the plate, including a piece of the very expensive fish that had me here in the first place. I began to eat as Barian took my place in front of the tub of water, rolling up his sleeves and continuing with the half-scrubbed cooking pot.

The food actually was rather good. The fish almost seemed to fall apart in my mouth, the tangy taste of the sauce blending nicely with the fish's aftertaste. The pasta was delectable, the roast juicy and tender, the rolls the softest I've ever tasted. All of it was delicious and before I knew it I had eaten it all, regretful that there wasn't more.

Barian had his back to me and I watched silently for a few moments as he dealt with the dishes. He truly was a talent in the kitchen. He had made all of this food in hopes that someone from House Sunstrider would try it. I agreed with his earlier comment, however—he really was a fool. Why would he think someone from the royal family would come to this wedding? Social events that they attended usually happened within closed doors—in breathtaking ballrooms that I could only imagine. But I suppose chasing dreams can leave one blind at times, and I suppose Barian was merely responding to that faint stroke of hope, that allure of possibility that any person with a desire to improve themselves felt from time to time. I certainly felt it, in my desire to be even a shadow as faithful and dedicated as Sister Liadrin to the Light. I almost felt sorry for Barian. _Almost._

"Your food, it's delicious," I commented as I moved beside him, getting back to work on the dishes. "As much as I dislike you right now, I must compliment your cooking ability."

Barian did not look up at me, but he did smile softly. "You're certainly not afraid to openly express your feelings."

I shrugged, reaching for a particularly greasy pan. "What is the point of striving to be a good person if you can't be honest with yourself and those around you?"

"I suppose that's true."

We worked in silence for a few minutes, engulfed in the sounds of sloshing water, the rummage of dishes, the busy clanging and scraping sounds of cooks in the next room, and the drifting, light music of the band outside. I tried to ignore my pounding heart--why was it beating so anyway?--thinking again about Barian and Sylann and how very different this was compared to how comfortable they were around each other.

"Why are you here anyway?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be out helping your team with the food?"

"They've got it handled from here," was his answer before dumping a pile of dirty plates in the water to soak. "Ostus expects me to enjoy the reception as a regular guest at some point during the day. My team is gracious enough to cover for me while this happens. They're a good bunch of people and very good at what they do—I couldn't ask for a better team."

I nodded, forcing a smile, scrubbing at a fork. "I suppose Sylann is the biggest help in allowing you time to enjoy your friend's wedding." I regretted those words the moment they left my mouth.

Barian didn't seem to think anything of it, though. He swirled water into a pot. "She certainly is."

The way his voice softened when he said that confirmed my assumption. "It must be nice working side-by-side with your wife in something that you enjoy."

Barian paused, shooting me a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow. "What? My wife?" He burst into laughter and I glowered, not liking being laughed at. This only made him laugh harder. "She's not my...wife, or my lover, or anything like that if that's what you're thinking," he said when his amusement subsided. "Well, we used to be lovers. We dated for a while, a long time ago. Turns out we have nothing in common aside from our love of cooking. We still remain friends, though, and she is my most trusted colleague. She's currently engaged to a farmer outside of Fairbreeze Village, and I am engaged to my career."

I frowned, never guessing that she was engaged to someone else from the look she had given Barian earlier. I decided not to bring it up, the conversation awkward enough as it was already. At least it was nice to hear that he wasn't seeing anyone. It bothered me that I cared enough about that little tidbit of information to feel happy about it. Definitely time to change the subject.

"That still doesn't answer why you're here."

Barian glanced up at me then, looking a bit nervous, forcing himself to look into my eyes. "I…" he sighed, looking back down into the water, suddenly paying special attention to a plate that had already been scrubbed. "I'm sorry, for how I treated you earlier," he started, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise, certainly not expecting an apology. "When I heard this morning that no one from the royal family was attending the wedding, I got angry. All you did was bump into that stand—it could have happened to anyone. I shouldn't have set up that tray of food so carelessly, and I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. As head chef, this is all my responsibility."

I wanted to smirk, wanted to gloat, wanted to bask in the fact that I wasn't at fault after all, but there was something about receiving an apology that made one feel just a tad bit guilty. "I'm sorry, too, for being such a brat. I'll be going through some big changes in my life right now, and I guess I just don't know how to handle it."

We worked in silence for another few moments, our pile of dishes growing noticeably smaller. Having an extra pair of hands certainly helped.

Now it was my turn to be hesitant, grateful, for once, for the distraction of doing dishes. "For the record, I think if someone from the royal family did attend, they'd love your food. I certainly thought it was delicious. Judging by the amount of plates here, so do a lot of people."

Barian studied me from the corner of his eye for a moment. I shifted uncomfortably in my spot, never liking when people didn't face me directly. Finally, he smiled, turning his head my direction. He had such a nice smile—it lightened his whole face, made his clear blue eyes seem to glow that much brighter. He certainly was handsome when he smiled. "Thank you."

We worked diligently together, passing the time and breaking the tension with small, idle chit-chat—comments about the wedding, the church, and such. Eventually our small talk grew a bit more personal, each of us sharing snippets of our lives, laughing at the occasional joke. I found Barian surprisingly easy to talk to—he was an attentive listener, and often had thoughtful responses to whatever I had to say. In turn I found talk of his life fascinating, somehow. He wasn't really any different from the average high elf—son of a sword smith father and a mother who was a former servant of a politician, eventually starting her own restaurant—what he was running now. He grew up with a fondness for cooking, travel (though he had yet to venture too far outside of Quel'Thalas), and as he so strangely worded it, "the manipulation of sharp, pointy things." Whatever that meant. Nothing really interesting to a particular person, but to me, it was all fascinating, merely because it was all about Barian.

I felt almost regretful that we had managed to clean and dry all the dishes that were there, as this meant an end to our conversations.

"I don't know about you," Barian said as he stood up, "but I think we should get out of here while we can, because once everyone is done with dessert, this place will be a nightmare."

I stood up also, taking off my apron. "Does that mean I am relieved of duty, Master?"

Barian smirked. "Yes, slave, you can scurry away now."

We both laughed at our joke as we moved through the kitchen. I caught Sylann turning from the meat table to look at us as we passed by, glancing at Barian curiously before resting narrowed eyes and a frown on me. I pretended not to notice the look, thinking nothing of it. Why would it bother me anyway? I was just a priestess, helping a chef with common kitchen tasks for a wedding held at our church.

Despite that, I felt a pang of sadness as we stepped out into the yard now bustling with dancing and laughter, wishing I had gotten to know Barian sooner. The Light wasn't a very popular religion in Quel'Thalas, more as a study of what the magisters called "the healing arts" than a way of life. It being my way of life, however, I spent a lot of time at the church, so I didn't have very many friends to confide with, especially outside of the faith. Barian was now yet another thing I'd miss about my homeland, and I wished I had more time before I had to leave.

I sighed, letting the cool evening breeze fan my face. The sun was just starting to sink into the trees to the West, the sunlight aging to a more orange color. Tomorrow would be here before too long; might as well reveal to him my plans for tomorrow. I turned to Barian's direction. "I just want to thank you for—"

I blinked, realizing that he wasn't there. Strange, I could have sworn he was behind me just a moment ago! I looked around, trying to spot his stark-white attire, his mass of bound blonde hair, but I could not spot him anywhere. Where did he go? I sighed again, dejected, and decided that it was perhaps a good idea that I was leaving for Stormwind so soon anyway. I didn't realize I was such bad company.

"Katlayna!"

I turned to see Sister Liadrin approach me, having changed into an elegant but modest peach dress with long sleeves, a high collar, and a skirt that billowed around her. She had her light brown hair pinned in soft curls around her face, a small bit of rouge on her cheeks. She looked beautiful and my heart felt at ease upon looking at her, as it always did. I smiled back at her, grateful for her company.

"You're all packed and ready to go?" she asked, her voice firm but gentle, soft crinkles forming around her eyes from her smile. She was old enough to be my mother, and there had been many days that I honestly wished she was, but she was still one of the most beautiful elves I knew, her radiance shining brighter with age. I looked up to her, her unshakable faith and positive outlook on life everything I wished I could someday aqcuire. I felt like crying at that moment, her mention of packing another grim reminder that I wouldn't see her again for quite some time.

"Not yet," I answered, looking down so that she could not see my pained expression. "I was busy…"

"I noticed you helping the caterers," she commented, her voice heavy with pride. "They were short-staffed, so I'm sure your thoughtfulness means a lot to them. You were a perfect example of a devoted follower of the Light, volunteering to help in any way you can, and working so hard in doing so."

Guilt hung from my heart. Liadrin thought I had enthusiastically helped Barian the entire day when really I resented most of the work and complained to myself about it the entire time. Yet another reminder of how long of a journey I had to be as devoted to the Light as Sister Liadrin was. I bit my lip, struggling with a way to admit to her that my volunteer work wasn't really a gesture of generosity, angry at myself that I couldn't be a better apprentice by immediately admitting the truth.

"What are you off to do now?" she asked.

I swallowed, a bit relieved from the change in subject. "I was going to go finish packing and then--"

"Packing can wait for a little while longer." She reached forward to grasp my hands, her smile so reassuring. "This is your last night in Quel'Thalas for a few years at least. Enjoy yourself for once. You're always reading on the Three Virtues of the Light, or praying, or some sort of work. Take in all the good that is Quel'Thalas, lock it with your memories as you live amongst humans."

Why couldn't she understand that all her talk about this was making me miss her more, making it harder for me to deal with leaving? "Sister," I started, keeping my voice from shaking, resisting the tension in my throat that came with crying. "I—"

She hugged me tightly then, her favorite perfume engulfing my senses. "I'll miss you," she whispered, the quaver in her voice unmistakable, drawing me to a shocked silence. "The next time I see you, we will be equals in our devotion to the Light. I look forward to that day. For now, I need you to enjoy yourself. I want to see you smile and have fun. I've known you since you were a baby, Katlayna. Dealing with you leaving is hard – at least let me know that you have left with fun-filled memories of your last day in Silvermoon."

My arms finally curled around her to return the gesture as I closed my eyes. "OK, I will," I whispered.

We parted with warm smiles, my heart a torrent of emotions and desires – wanting to stay in Silvermoon, but also wanting to start my intense studies, missing Sister Liadrin, warmed by her words, miffed at Barian for his sudden departure, knowing that I still needed to pack…

I strolled through the yard, feeling as lazy as the evening sun and the bugs flitting smoothly about in the dying light, watching people dance hand-in-hand to the music, the women in long, gorgeous, brightly-colored dresses, the men looking strapping in their suits. Children weaved in and out amongst those adults that preferred to stand and chat over glasses of wine. I suppose having all these people here wasn't so bad on the yard after all—it brought joy to those in it, the very atmosphere of the space light and relaxing. I stood around for a while, merely watching, absorbing everything, trying to convince myself that I needn't feel so sad about taking this rare opportunity to study outside of Quel'Thalas.

People began offering the bride and groom their wedding gifts. I watched with mild interest, admiring the bride's beauty and her gorgeous dress, hoping that someday it would be my turn, but knowing with the lifestyle I had chosen that that would never be the case. My thoughts drifted briefly to Barian, and the way Sylann looked at him earlier.

The gift exchanges dragged on for a while as my mind mulled through the nice conversations Barian and I had shared while doing dishes.

The line had shrunk to a couple of stragglers by the time I mustered up enough willpower to leave the area. I had hoped to catch sight of Barian again before I retired for the night, but his long absence was too much to handle. I wondered what I had said to scare him away, what I had done...

Then I saw him. I didn't realize it was him at first, only half paying attention to the elf with long blonde hair falling loose over his back, dressed in a black suit, as he approached the newlywed couple. When that elf spoke, however, I knew it was him. I never thought he'd look so good in a suit, it complementing his form much better than his cooking attire did. He looked so different with his hair down, narrowing his face, drawing more attention to the gentle curve of his nose, his smooth, narrow chin, and those mesmerizing eyes of his. He was surprisingly handsome, and I couldn't help but blush as I watched him move to the center of yard, to a mass expanse of open space.

"As many of you may know," he started, people turning to hear him speak, "Ostus and I have known each other for a long time, since we were children. For as long as I can remember, he has been at my side, through all the joys in my life, and all the turmoil, often as a pest, but always as a best friend."

"Someone has to keep you in line!" Ostus called out, his voice shrill from having a bit too much to drink, and people laughed, including Barian.

"Now he's finally married," Barian continued, "finally sharing his life with his gorgeous wife. I don't know how he managed to pull that one off, but I'm glad to finally have some breathing room! Thanks, Giselle, for being so good to him." He grinned, people chuckling, the bride blushing and mouthing a "thank you" Barian's way while Ostus shouted off his thanks. I was blushing too, but not at all because of his words, unable to take my eyes off him.

"You're starting new lives together. You're the only family I have, and you've done so much for me, _so_ much, so I thought it fitting to offer you my most cherished possession in return for always being in my shadow."

Ostus gasped, suddenly speechless, obviously moved by whatever it was Barian was talking about, while someone rushed to him a very large, narrow, plain-looking blue shield. The area was silent, all eyes on him, all curious as to what this most cherished possession could be.

"My father was a sword smith," Barian explained, holding the shield out stiffly in front of him. "I grew up fascinated with the weapons he'd create. At first he was protective, worried that I'd hurt myself. But over time, over the years, he crafted a weapon suitable to my form, my style, something forged just for me. That weapon was this."

From behind the shield he pulled out a sword. Well, not really a sword, more like a glaive, the handle being a bar in the center between two blades. Each blade curved outward, the weapon in its entirety giving off a slight "S" shape, the blades curved just enough for the weapon not to be mistaken for a pole arm. The blades were grooved in several places, tinged in blue—the color of Quel'Thalas and of the Alliance. The concave portions of the blades appeared jagged, but not messily so, more to give the weapon a more menacing look. The handle, in the center of the "S" shape, looked a bit worn from heavy use. The weapon stretched in length from Barian's feet to mid-shoulder. Even to me, a priestess that knew nothing about warfare and held a more pacifistic nature, thought the weapon was beautiful.

"No, Barian, you don't need to give me that," Ostus protested breathlessly. "You've had that thing _forever_."

Barian ignored him. He spun the weapon around slowly in his right hand, somehow managing not to catch the tips in the grass. "I've learned to master this blade over the years, always the test subject for its many alterations until this, perfection. My father died before he could petition this for use within the Silvermoon guard force. It was designed to accompany a shield." He emphasized with a shake the rather dull shield in his left hand. "However, I'm no good at handling such clunky, awkward things. So, for me, my father made not one of these, but two."

He allowed the shield to fall, holding in his left hand another glaive, identical to the first. He paced a few steps back and forth, holding both weapons naturally, as though they were merely knives.

"These weapons weren't designed to dual-wield," he continued. "They're too long and some portions of the blade too jagged, causing these two to catch. Also, the degree of the curves for these blades, though slight, makes handling them together dangerous for the wielder. However, these two weapons were meant to be together, a pair, one incomplete without the other. Together they are a truly unbreakable force, a perfect sign of unity against what is considered an impossible union. I see this in Ostus and Giselle, as I will demonstrate now."

He began to move, very slowly at first, guiding the blades around him in confident, fluid motions. The blades crossed, but never touched, grazing the ground, but never cutting a blade of grass. It almost looked like he was dancing, his blades his companion in something slow, fluidic, complicated, dangerous, and entirely beautiful. I wondered how he was going to demonstrate this without ruining his suit, or even how his suit didn't constrict his movements, but he seemed to be having no troubles doing any of this. He kept his gaze forward most of the time, but every once in a while I'd catch his eyes follow the curve of the blades, and it was then that I realized that this was what he loved most out of life. Sure, he was a talented cook and he seemed to enjoy himself while doing it, but the look in his eyes at that moment was unmistakable—wielding those glaives was what he loved most, his connection to them so strong. I wondered why he was giving them up.

He shifted the angle of his wrists just slightly, enough to capture the fleeting sunlight in his blades, causing spots of light to dance around him against the crowd. Children giggled and jumped up within the crowd to catch these reflections of light, and I could catch Barian grin over this.

Then his speed, his stance, the very mood around him changed as he began to move his body faster, driving his swords in stronger, harder strokes, the blades whistling in the air. Soon they seemed like a blur around him, Barian caught in the center of what could potentially cut him to pieces. The crowd remained silent, captivated by his performance, all eyes on him. He was quite the sword dancer, and I couldn't help but wonder how he would fare in a battle, but resisting the urge to actually imagine this; I could not stand violence of any sort.

Finally, he stopped, lightly panting, his suit and his long hair still intact. He dropped to one knee in front of the married couple, presenting both weapons, one stacked on top of the other, laid flat across both upturned palms.

"We can't take these from you," Ostus commented breathlessly, his wife nodding in agreement. "Your father made these for you. He put so much time into them. You used them so much, perfected them! Just…why? Really…"

"Just take them," Barian muttered.

"I can't."

"Just do it."

"I won't!"

"You stubborn prick, just take them!"

"You equally stubborn bastard, I won't!"

"These things are quite heavy to hold like this for too long. Your best friend is suffering, Ostus. Really, do you want to do that to him?"

Finally, Ostus sighed. "Ok, fine, but only because you're crazy." He removed them both from Barian's hands. The crowd, in turn, cheered.

I decided it a good time to take my leave as some people gathered around to take a closer look at the gifts, while others returned to dancing or loitering around the appetizers table. I wanted to greet Barian, congratulate him on his performance, jump back into our conversations of earlier, but I suddenly felt a distance between us, with how great he looked now, with the attention he was getting, with how he so easily became part of this crowd of overdressed partygoers. I did not want to close this sudden rift with my plain ways. Barian was no longer an ordinary elf to me—he was someone else now, someone above me socially, which made me feel uncomfortable, inferior somehow. Besides, I had only just met him—I still didn't know much about him, was probably just an acquaintance to him that he knew from his best friend's church wedding. No doubt he'd be like all the other people I had tried to befriend throughout my life—he'd eventually realize the degree of my faith, the limits it placed on my life, would then find me strange or prudish and uptight and would finally abandon me to befriend more interesting people. I certainly did not want to be hurt like that again. So I pushed against the crowd, making my way slowly towards the dormitory.

I suddenly felt a hand clamp on my shoulder, tugging insistently. I narrowed my eyes and turned around, annoyed at whoever it was that was being so pesterous, and came face to face with Barian.

Up close he looked even better than he did from afar, no longer smelling of a hot, greasy kitchen but instead of a lingering trace of cologne. "Hey," he said, "leaving already?"

I juggled between joy and irritation. "I couldn't find you," I decided to say.

"I'm sorry, I had to clean up."

"I can see that." It took amazing willpower to refrain from giving him a good, approving once-over right in front of him. The thought of wanting to do so left me feeling suddenly shy. "Your sword display was impressive," I commented as I rubbed at the cuffs of my robe. "I could tell those weapons were important to you. Why give them up?"

He smiled softly at me, my heart melting over the warmth of it. "Ostus really helped me out in getting my life in order," he explained as we walked together towards the refreshment stand. "I was such a mess beforehand, especially after my parents died. Ostus helped me find drive, focus. Now my mother's business is flourishing, I love my work, I live in a comfortable area of the city, there's always money in my pocket now—well not after today, and I'm surrounded by good friends. I'm satisfied with my life now, and busy—I just don't have time any more to be swinging swords around like I used to. I'm happy to move on—that was my thanks to him for that."

I smiled, happy and envious at the same time at how content and satisfied Barian sounded throughout all of that. I hoped Ostus realized how good of a friend he had.

We stopped in front of the drinks, though neither of us reached for one. "Well, I'm glad you've found your place in life and that you're happy," I said, never feeling more sincere. "Really, I am."

Barian raised an eyebrow, trying to capture my gaze with his eyes, me intent on avoiding it. "And yourself? You're happy too, aren't you?"

No one had ever asked me that. This was even the first time I had asked myself such a question. Was I really happy? I knew no other life than that of the church. I was leaving to study amongst human clerics in order to improve my studies in the Light. Wasn't I? Or was I merely following the motions? So taken aback by this sudden thought track, I didn't notice Barian holding a hand out to me until I heard his voice: "Want to dance?"

I blinked, broken from my reverie, looking at him then at his awaiting hand. Dancing?! I glanced behind me to the group of people dancing behind us, feet bouncing along in time to a merrier tune. I looked back at Barian, eyes widening. "Now?"

Barian's stance held, and he grinned at me. "What, never danced before?"

I frowned, displeased. "I have, just not with other people."

"Come on, it'll be fun, I promise."

Since when did I become such a fool, a lovesick puppy? _No, it's not love,_ I told myself as I placed my hand in his. _I've only known him for less than a day. I'm not so shallow._ But there was something about his smile, the way his fingers curled over mine, that had me so foolishly following his lead to the crowd.

I felt awkward at first, clearly not in my element as others around me clapped and laughed to the rhythm. People pranced around others, spun around, wiggled in time to the music with joined hands, whatever suited their fancy. At least this wasn't formal dancing—I would never be able to survive in a ballroom setting.

Slowly, gradually, I grew more comfortable with just letting my body go, realizing that no one else around me cared how I moved or were even paying attention—they were all too busy having their own fun. And Barian, thoughtful Barian—I knew he could dance, after seeing how he moved with his glaives earlier, but he purposely made himself look like a fool in front of me, seeking my laughter, coaxing me to dance with him because, as he had said, "it can't be any worse than what I'm doing now."

So when the band played lighter, faster songs we spent that time seeing what we could do to make the other laugh, enjoying poking fun at one another, and generally having fun. I felt like a child again, oblivious to everyone else around me except for the one I was dancing with.

While couples snuggled close and swayed together to slow songs, we'd stand off to the side to chat some more, have a little wine, and sample the food Barian and his team had prepared. I did not notice the sun sink behind the horizon, the arcane lanterns flicker to life around us, the stars begin to twinkle merrily above us, so enthralled I was in this time with Barian. Never did I have so much fun; I never wanted this night to end. But when I gazed at the happy wedded couple as they danced slowly together, closely, almost sensually, eyes locked on one another, hands resting almost on places of the body not considered overly decent to touch in public, I realized how late it was and how quickly this night would end. Soon Ostus and his bride would go to continue their celebration of this day privately while everyone else would go to sleep off their fun and deal with hangovers in the morning. I would be leaving for Stormwind.

I felt a strong tug in my heart, my emotions falling into its depths. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay here, continue my studies under the wing of Sister Liadrin, to strengthen this new friendship I had with Barian, my first solid friendship outside of the Church. But I knew I couldn't, my faith still so much stronger than any selfish desire I had, knowing that staying for the sake of a friend would make me happy, but would not necessarily evolve me into the person I wanted to be--a full-fledge Priestess of the Holy Light. So I tried to swallow those feelings, sipping more wine from my glass than I should, but I couldn't hold back the sudden sting to my eyes. I tried to blink it away, not allowing the tears to come, focusing on all the dancing couples and their elegant attire, anything...

"What's wrong?" Barian asked softly, tilting his head low to try to meet my gaze. "You look sad."

I looked into his eyes, knowing that doing otherwise would give my sorrow away. "No, it's fine, I'm just tired," I said, trying to sound confident, forcing a smile, though my voice cracked and my smile wavered.

Barian looked unconvinced, though he nodded, eyeing me carefully. His stare was always so penetrating, as though he could read my soul with only a gaze, an expression of his that I found so captivating and a little unsettling at the same time. "Come dance with me." He offered a hand just as another slow song began to play, tranquil and melodious in its tune, enriched with the beautiful, crooning voice of a singer.

My eyes widened as they did the first time he had asked me to dance. "What, now? But this song..." This slow song was one of my inner favorites, very old and not very popular, but it held romantic connotations – of a love born, lost in the ebbing, changing flow of time, then found again. It was the song that would ring in the background of my daydreams when I was a little girl, of when I thought of myself in an elegant dress, dancing with some Prince Charming.

"It's probably one of the last songs of the night," Barian coaxed with a half-smile. "I doubt the musicians will play any more upbeat songs."

"But..."

There was that smile again, so patient, so warm, his hand still held out to me. I wanted to melt into those sky-blue eyes of his. One slow dance couldn't hurt, right? After all, it was only dancing.

I placed my hand in his, electrified, as always, by the contact of his skin against mine, and he led me out onto the dance floor.

"Have you ever danced like this before?" he murmured, his voice soft.

I merely shook my head, too nervous now to talk.

"Alright. Place your right hand in my left." He held his hand out to the side, palm up.

I obeyed.

"Your left hand on my right shoulder."

I looked down as I did so, not wanting Barian to see me blush. It was the most I've touched him; why did it fluster me so?

"And if you don't mind, my hand..." He rested his other hand on my waist. I could feel my face grow hotter. Our bodies were so close, almost touching; I could feel the heat radiate from him. I could smell the cologne on his skin, my eyes tracing the slope of his neck and the curve of his jaw as I was too nervous to look into his eyes. "Now..."

We began to move, slowly, he guiding me along with his left hand. I shuffled in my steps a bit at first, unsure of how to move, but it wasn't long before I realized that dancing this way didn't really require any previous knowledge of dancing and that, for the most part, we just swayed to the music.

"This isn't so bad," I commented, confidence rising.

Barian smiled. "Good to hear. Usually this is just an opportunity for people to talk while actually doing something."

I nodded. "I see."

Then, without warning, he spun me around. I laughed in spite of myself, my mind suddenly plunging to memories of my childhood when I imagined being twirled on the dance floor in a beautiful, billowing dress. It was a far cry from what I was wearing now--the dull silver and white uniform of a priestess in training that didn't billow at all while twirled. I realized that I must look very plain compared to the other women on the dance floor.

It was astonishing how natural we fell back into the original dance position, me still grinning from the surprise twirl. I took this time to look around, scoping how underdressed I really was compared to the other women here. Bright spring-time colors flared against the black suits of the men, skirts floating so elegantly around their legs, bodies glistening with jewelry, hair pinned in various fashionable, beautiful styles.

"See something interesting?"

I faltered, fighting back my urge to frown, not wanting to kill this mood. "Nothing, just…the way I'm dressed, compared to the others…"

"Don't fret so much about that, you're the best looking one here."

I flashed Barian an exasperated look. What a blatant lie. "Come on now," I snapped grumpily, "be serious. I don't own a single nice dress to my name, or—"

"Just close your eyes."

I blinked, not expecting the sudden comment, giving Barian an inquisitive look.

He smirked at me, his eyes glinting in a mischievous way. "What, don't trust me?"

"Not with a face like that."

He chuckled. "It's so fun to tease you, Katlayna. But seriously, close your eyes."

I hesitated, but eventually obeyed, guided through the floor now only by the feel of his warm hands on me, the motion of his movements, the swish-sounds of the other dancers around us, and all of our footsteps on the grass.

"Now," he whispered, his breath in my ear, "imagine this is _your_ special day, whatever occasion that may be. Imagine you're the one with the most elegant dress, all these people around you now are here for _you_, everything here is for you. Tell me what you see, imagine it."

I decided to participate in this little game of his, my mind weaving the loose threads of this night into a beautiful tapestry centered on me. "This song is playing," I started slowly, "my wedding song. My wedding dress—sleeveless, fitting around my torso, flaring out below the waist. There are tiny white flowers in my hair. Everyone around me is having the best time, the wedding party and their dates all dancing around me, Sister Liadrin giving me her blessing. Everything takes place here, but this yard looks even more elegant than ever, the flowers shimmering, the weather perfect, the scent of honeysuckle all around us." As I imagined this, I could feel my spirits uplifted, all of my senses coming around me to enhance what I was seeing behind closed eyes. The music seemed to swell in a slow, gradual crescendo, the voices around me quieting. A small breeze picked up, and with it the sweet fragrance of the flowers. I could feel Barian sweep me around a corner and in that instant, with everything falling together so perfectly, so naturally, I really did feel like the most beautiful girl at the party, that everyone really was here just for me, the perfect bride, dancing with her…

I opened my eyes, my vision fading to Barian's face. I had never bothered to think about the groom before now, always imagining what my wedding dress would be like, my hair, how the party would look, and other such things. I had never pondered details of the groom, the supposed ideal man for me, and my mind scrambled to grasp those details before the image completely faded away. Barian, as handsome and as charming as he was right now, made a nice placeholder for this special someone. A _placeholder_, because I was too scared to think that my future groom was standing right in front of me now. How silly that was! I had only just met Barian today and already I was imagining him as my groom! But no…I was not scared that Barian could be what they called "The One". I was really scared that, after only knowing this man for a day, I actually liked the notion that he could be. Perhaps I was no different from my shallow cohorts after all. How did that happen?

"You're blushing," he commented with a little smirk.

I blinked, realizing that I, indeed was, and looked away, feeling my face grow hotter from this.

"What little detail are you neglecting to share with me, Katlayna?"

"It's nothing," I snapped, forcing myself to scowl, definitely not wanting Barian to push further into the issue. He did not need to know of my foolish girly thoughts of marrying the first man to sweep me off my feet.

He chuckled again. "I'll leave those thoughts to yourself, so long as I get to see that smile again."

I looked back up at him, raising my eyebrows. The way he was looking at me now, what he had just said…

"Barian Duskfall, do you dare flirt with a priestess of the Light?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I do," was his confident reply. "Do you mind?"

"I, uh…" I wondered if my face would forever stay red from the way he continued to keep me blushing. No, I didn't mind at all, but how to say that without feeling so awkward?

"Well, would a priestess object from merely stating the truth? Being truthful is important to your religion, is it not?"

I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "Yes…"

"Good. Truthfully, you're beautiful, and even more so when you smile. You really should smile more often, so that others can see this truth."

I laughed, still blushing, always blushing! "That came out terribly corny, Barian."

He laughed along with me, and I wondered if anyone thought we were strange being the only giggling couple on the dance floor during what was supposed to be a very romantic moment for everyone else. I didn't care, though. I had a feeling he didn't either. "I know," he said. "I'm terrible with pickup lines—I've never been smooth with the ladies, even after Ostus's persistent coaching. But I had to try."

"Smooth…with…the ladies…? Coaching?"

"Emphasis again on how terrible I am at this sort of thing."

We chuckled again and I rested my head on his shoulder, squeezing my hands to try to emphasize a hug in this position. I was grateful for the break in the mood—I was starting to feel like a bright red berry with all these strange comments and these even stranger new feelings flying around. "Thank you, though, for your comment," I murmured. "No one has called me beautiful before."

I could feel Barian's weight shift slightly and I lifted my head up to look at him.

"Seriously?" he said, doubt everywhere on his face. "_No one_ has ever called you beautiful? I find that hard to believe."

I rolled my eyes. "Ok, well, there's always the perverted old man that will say I'm a 'fine-looking young high elf', but they'll say that to any girl under 500 years old. I've had little girls say I'm 'really pretty', but I remember thinking any adult woman was pretty when I was little. This is the first time I've been called beautiful by…" _by an incredibly gorgeous guy._

"…By a sword-dancing chef with bad pickup lines? I'll agree, that doesn't happen to very many people."

I snorted. "Good to know, but that's not quite what I meant. I—"

I didn't see it coming, or I was too slow to react, or _something_. Somehow I just allowed him to tilt his head forward, did not move away as his lips brushed very lightly over mine, his light breath tickling my cheek. I had completely forgotten what I was in the middle of saying, so surprised I was at this kiss. My first kiss! My mind panicked, wondering what to do, if this was alright, but my emotions seemed to take control as I very gingerly returned the kiss, unsure if I was doing it right but too curious not to give it a try.

We kissed very softly, very slowly, still in dancing position but no longer moving. So tender he was with his kisses, not at all intrusive. I could feel my heart melting, anything else on my mind forgotten as this kiss gradually deepened, lips parting as tongues greeted each other shyly. It was pleasant to taste him, kissing this way not at all disgusting like I had thought it would be. Something else stirred within me, weakly, a yearning deep within the pit of my stomach for more of his touch, the desire to make this feeling spread and grow. His outstretched hand left mine to cup the side of my face and I leaned against his chest, this strange, new feeling within me indeed growing just a little bit as he stroked the skin along my jaw with a feather light touch.

The music died away as we reluctantly broke the kiss. Dazed, I looked at him with a newfound affection, wondering why I didn't realize when we had first met how handsome he was, no longer too bashful to boldly study him as he looked back at me.

"Barian!"

I jumped, the voice so loud, and reality snapped back into place at that instant. People were bustling towards the front of the church, the musicians packing up their instruments, Ostus grinning widely at us, his bride in his arms, swaying a little, the scent of wine strong in his breath.

"It's over, buddy, though it looked like you didn't quite notice. Care to take a moment to greet us out?"

The bride giggled, snuggling up against her husband, her cheeks a little rosy from having a little too much to drink.

Barian cleared his throat as we took a step back from each other, both of us fighting with the awkward moment. "I, uh, of course, Ostus, I—"

"Quite a nice catch there, I must say," Ostus blurted. His eyes ran over me, but somehow not lecherously so, probably only due to the fact that his bride had a hand sneaked around to grip his rear, her other hand trailing up and down his arm suggestively, a smug smirk on her face. It was clear who the star of his dirty thoughts was tonight, and I was grateful it wasn't me. "A priestess for that matter! I'm impressed! Thank you, ma'am, for your breathtaking church, the beautiful reception, and your hospitality, by the way. Well, Barian, the night isn't getting any younger, so we gotta go! We've got a great place in the living room picked out to mount your glaives. Glad to see we won't be the only ones having mind-blowing sex tonight! Good night!"

He laughed as his wife tried her best to flash us an apologetic look, though she looked like she didn't really care either way. "He was only joking," she said to me, rather unconvincingly, as she looked upon my mortified expression. Further attempts at being polite were suddenly forgotten as Ostus hoisted her up over his shoulder, her squealing and laughing all the while.

Where had my mind gone? What was I doing, _kissing_ someone I hardly knew?! And was that Barian's intention from the beginning—to take advantage of my naïve nature and get me in his bed tonight? I hoped that I at least knew him enough to know that this wasn't the case, but still, to abandon myself like that to someone I only met today…

What was worse—I had too quickly crossed the line with him on being just merely friends. I was departing the only home I ever knew tomorrow, something I still had not the courage to tell him yet in fear of upsetting him, and now it was going to be that much harder to leave, me wanting to stay here that much more, making it all so much more painful to bear.

"We...I…we shouldn't have done that." I took another step back, my head spinning, avoiding his direct gaze.

Barian's eyes widened, clearly distressed. "I'm sorry," he stated hurriedly, "Ostus really was just joking—that asshole! The kiss was completely unexpected—it just happened, too caught up in the moment. I really wasn't intending to—"

"It's ok, I understand," I broke off, not wanting to hear his voice anymore, his frantic apologies making it harder for me to resist crying. "I…" I searched the yard, looking anywhere but at him, searching for nothing, everything, just searching. "I have things to do that I should have done hours ago. I shouldn't be here. I…" I looked at him now, he looking confused, bewildered. It pained me to see that I had hurt him, but I was afraid that if I stood there any longer, I would blurt out my plans for tomorrow. Because of how far we've gotten, telling him about tomorrow would only hurt him more. _So is it better to just leave without saying anything?_

I looked him straight in the eye, lost as to what else to do. "Barian, I'm sorry." And with that, I turned and ran, ignoring his calls out to me, hoping he wouldn't follow me, straight into the dormitory and up to my small, lonely room, the half-packed bags, and my solitude.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N

Chapter trivia!

So, I'm a dork. To me, one of the coolest-looking weapons in the entire game is a weapon that isn't all that special, a weapon that players can't even use. That weapon is the glaive the Silvermoon guards use. If you don't know what I'm referring to, take a trip to Silvermoon and see for yourself – the weapon looks VERY cool. Simple, yet elegant. Not flashy or gaudy but unique enough in appearance to be noticed. Not too thick or huge – it looks like something a person can actually wield, yet large enough to still hold an imposing presence. I worry that having Barian related to the creator of said weapon crosses the line into "Mary Sue" territory. However, the origin of the weapon is never mentioned anywhere in lore sources (that I know of), and Barian will not be known to have connection to it, nor will he ever reap the benefits of his connection to it. (Meaning that if one were to ask the average sin'dorei or Silvermoon citizen who designed the weapon, they wouldn't have the slightest clue.) Hopefully this balances my idea that Barian is the son of the creator of the weapon you see everwhere in Silvermoon City. *nod* If you disagree, please let me know!

Songs that inspired this chapter:

"Taverns" – WoW: Burning Crusade OST

"Caribbean Blue" – Enya

"Fairytale" – Enya

"Memory of Lightwaves" – Final Fantasy 10-2 OST (for the sword-dancing scene)


	4. Chapter 3 Farewell, Quel'Thalas

**BEYOND THE SETTING SUN**

**A Warcraft fanfic by Alfbie**

_Disclaimer: Based off the characters and events of the Warcraft universe, copywrite by Blizzard Entertainment and affiliates. I make no profit from this story._

**Chapter 3 – Farewell, Quel'Thalas**

_Written in Barian's Point of View_

It was, undoubtedly, a long day.

It started off rough--waking up hours before dawn to prepare food for my best friend's wedding. Not only was my hard work a favor to my friend, but I had also heard that a representative from House Sunstrider was coming—the bride was connected, though distantly, to a member of the royal family. Hours later, after most of the morning's food was prepared and guests were arriving, word got out that the representative was not showing up after all.

There were plenty of other people to sample my food, plenty of compliments to receive, and it was good for business. But I still couldn't help feeling let down about the situation. I had been daydreaming of preparing food for House Sunstrider for weeks prior to this day, the first step of my dream to cater to their most elaborate banquets, balls, and meetings, the most important people in Quel'Thalas enjoying my cuisine. Those dreams now disappeared like soap bubbles popped in the air. But I kept my optimism, fastened that smile on my face as I still had a duty to fulfill - to feed the mouths of the others of this wedding. The rest of the morning continued forth without incident.

Until I met _her_. To be honest, I have never known a priestess of the Light to be spoiled, but she was! From the moment she knocked that tray of very expensive fish over, she did not like the notion of being held responsible for it, and she had no qualms on letting me know her feelings of this. What, was I supposed to tell her, "No, it's quite alright, watch where you're going next time!" while I had to deal with the very expensive mess on my own? Not on my watch, especially when she had so carelessly blurted out the fact that she'd do anything to compensate for her mistake. It was something people usually say to draw more sympathy and less anger out of whoever they offended, but I was quick to take her up on that offer. By the Sunwell, she was going to _earn_ her way out of the situation!

I should have remained stern with her, should have held on to my frustration, should have...should have...

Even now, I drilled over and over in my mind the should-haves as I scrubbed yet another dirty plate in the large basin of soapy water. It was very late, every guest and member of the wedding long since gone home to bed. I could have gone home, too, taken these dishes to my much larger, more efficient kitchen in my own little restaurant. To be honest, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep this night anyway, not after meeting her. She was all I could see in my mind, like a heavy morning mist that would not lift. Might as well get some work done if I was going to stay awake through this night.

Her. Katlayna. I allowed the name to roll through my mind a few times, and I occassionally whispering it, liking how it sounded across my tongue. Katlayna.

What made me regret so relentlessly taking advantage of her meaningless offer of help earlier? Was it the fact that she was, indeed a priestess, being kept from doing her holy duty of whatever-it-was that they do? Was it because, despite her complaining, she did try her very best in everything I asked? Nah, it was probably because she was beautiful, and my mother had always said that I was a sucker for a pretty face.

She was, indeed, beautiful, but in a different way than what I was used to. High elven women usually adored experimenting with rouge on their faces, flaunting their jewelry--real or fake--indulging in the latest fashions. Katlayna wore not a speck of makeup, dressed in a rather boring and unflattering robe on a _wedding day_ of all days, didn't even do anything to her hair. To most others, she probably came across as a rather plain and humble-looking girl. To me, however, she was gorgeous, a true natural beauty. Smooth, pale skin, full lips, bright, almond-shaped blue eyes, a gorgeous shade of deep red hair that curled softly around her narrow face. Even her unflattering robes couldn't hide hints of what it covered underneath--a slender body, small, perky breasts, tight rear...

I grabbed another plate and scrubbed hard, not daring to further continue in that train of thought. I was uncomfortable enough as it was already from thinking about her too much.

I shouldn't have kissed her, that much was for certain. I shouldn't have danced with her. I shouldn't have done pretty much anything with her, actually. If she hadn't knocked over that plate of fish, I would probably have never known she even existed. I would have spent the rest of the day prepping more food for the wedding and sampling the wine in vigor with Ostus and the rest of our friends. If I had been feeling lonely and in the mood, I would have danced with one of the many drunk and beautiful women there-- there certainly were a lot at this wedding, would have taken one of them home with me, then, whenever I'd see Ostus next, I'd remind him, yet again as always, that I can, in fact, pick up women.

Instead I was here, alone, doing dishes in an old church kitchen late at night. But despite my current misery, it was all so worth it, to be able to get to know that priestess. I paused my scrubbing to think, yet again, of how much I enjoyed her company, surprisingly so, how well we got along together, how much I wished to just spend the day talking with her again, and of kissing her again.

If only Ostus wasn't such an asshole! I knew he didn't mean to be so brash--he was drunk, and was always excessively rude when he had too much, and had only wanted to congratulate me on managing to find a date for the wedding, but still... I was pretty sure I wasn't going to see any more of Katlayna. She probably assumed that I had been trying to seduce her. I did want her, and I wouldn't have objected if she wanted to take things further, but spending all that time with her was not so that I could eventually lead her to my bed. I was satisfied to just talk with her, and I craved to spend more time with her, if even for a moment, regardless of what we would do during that time. But now she thought I was a lecherous pig. What could I do to convince her otherwise without her thinking that I was trying to further efforts to score with her?

I sighed, letting go of the plate and rag into the water, feeling dejected. I shouldn't be this worked up over a woman I just met, anyway. I didn't believe in love at first sight, the Light, or any other religious or superstitious conotations. Our personalities just meshed well together, that was all. She was just a crush, another pretty face, my reaction to being without a companion for apparently too long. I had to get over her, move on. Katlayna...

"Whoever's in there, please quit so I can lock up and go to bed," came a groggy voice from the hallway as the sounds of dragging footsteps approached. I turned around, seeing light bounce off the hallway wall in front of the door as whoever it was drew closer.

"I'm just finishing up," I called.

"We open early in the morning," came the reply. "You can always come back and..."

Katlayna stepped into the doorway, wearing a very heavy-looking deep blue wool robe secured loosely around her, a white nightgown that I could see from her knees where the robe ended down to her feet socked in fuzzy pink slippers. She held a candle in one hand, a set of keys in the other. Her words died in the air as she looked upon me, eyes widening in surprise. I had almost forgotten to breathe, my heart skipping a beat upon seeing her.

"Barian!" she whispered in surprise, suddenly looking much more alert than she did. "I didn't know you were still here."

I turned back around, trying to keep calm as my hands returned to the water, searching for the rag. I was overjoyed to see her, yet at the same time I had dreaded our next encounter, wondering how I could explain my intentions to her and have her believe me. "I have a busy day tomorrow," I murmured, which was partially true. "I need to finish the last of the cleanup now or I won't have time."

"I see," was her quiet response.

I could hear her place the candle and keys on a nearby table. I shoveled more dishes into the water, not paying attention or caring as to what, the water muffling their clanking sounds. What was I to say now?

"I'm sorry, for running away like that," I heard her say. Judging from her voice, she hadn't moved from beside the table behind me, by the doorway. "I…had a lot on my mind."

I sighed, feeling like hawkstrider shit. I allowed a bowl I had begun to work on sink back into the water, pulling my hands away as I did so. My finger knicked against something sharp—I must have knocked some knives in the sink, and I winced from the pain. I ignored it, however, knowing now was not the time to nurse a little cut.

I turned around to look at her, swallowing hard, forcing down my anxiety. No more beating around the bush. "Look, Katlayna," I started, "that kiss…I didn't mean to kiss you—well, no, I did, I guess, and I enjoyed it, but…what Ostus said, that wasn't my intention with you at all! I—"

Katlayna shook her head, her hair bouncing around her face, her lips curled into a soft smile. "It's ok, Barian," she reassured me. "Even if that was your intention, I'm sure you wouldn't have me so easily! Besides, I'm pretty certain you wouldn't be here if that was the case. If you really were just looking for...a partner, you'd be with some other girl right now…" Her eyes drifted to my right hand beside me.

I glanced down too, seeing blood drip from my index finger and onto the floor. That cut had been deeper than I thought.

Katlayna's eyes widened. "What happened?" she exclaimed, stepping forward and grasping my hand in both of hers, raising it up close to her face.

"It's nothing," I replied, thinking more of the feel of her hands over mine than on the knife cut. "It's not as bad as it looks. It happens all the time. It's part of the job."

"Whatever, you're bleeding." Katlayna frowned, in concentration, as her fingers touched the wounded tip of mine. Almost instantly her fingers were aglow with bright shimmering light. I could feel its heat on my skin, my wound tingling from the contact. I watched, fascinated, as the skin on either side of the gaping cut pulled together, meshed somehow, and smoothed away to solid skin, as though I had never cut myself in the first place.

Katlayna moved her hand away, letting this small bundle of light roll between her fingers, back and forth, like a small, glowing ball while she carefully examined my hand, deep in thought. I watched her little display, never seeing the Light manipulated like that before. I had seen healing from priests and priestesses of the Light many times, and none of them had manipulated the magic like a solid object like she did.

"I think that's everything," Katlayna murmured, dropping my hand. The little ball of light dissipated in the air in an instant. "Feel better?"

I nodded, the feel of her fingers still fresh in my mind, as well as her amazing little ability. "That thing you did with the Light…I've never seen that before."

"Oh, you mean this?" Katlayna raised her hand, the ball of light appearing again. It weaved in and out around each finger, circled around her wrist and down her arm, then back up again to bounce on the fingertip of each finger. "Growing up in a church of the Light, one tends to get very bored at times. I learned how to draw forth the Light at an early age. I spent a lot of time experimenting with it whenever I was bored. I always thought anyone with knowledge of the Light can do this; it's quite easy to do."

I smirked as the ball of light disappeared again. "I can't even summon forth the Light, let alone do what you do."

Katlayna smiled softly at me. Oh, how I loved her smile. "All you have to do is invite the Light into your heart, believe in it and its abilities, accept it as part of your life. Anyone can wield the Light if they'd just allow themselves to."

I could only look at her, refraining from frowning. I was certain the Light was just another form of magic—that there were no real deities behind any of it, and that somehow these people had to make it something more in order to think they could use it. But they didn't harm anyone; they had good morals and ideals, so I never bothered to pressure their philosophies, never bothered to question their ways. As long as they allowed me to believe or not believe in quietly, that's all that mattered. "I see," was all I could manage to say, not wanting to offend this priestess of my views.

Her eyes searched mine, sensing something off in my response. She could read people better than I thought. "What's wrong?"

I looked away, wanting to avoid her gaze. "Nothing," I replied softly. "Just tired."

She stared thoughtfully at me for a moment with narrowed eyes, her gaze intense. "You're a nonbeliever, aren't you."

She had a way of reading me like no other. I sighed, shrugged, nodded, not knowing how else to respond. "I'm sorry. Shall I hear your reasons now as to why I should convert to the Light?"

Katlayna shook her head. "Don't be sorry. And no, I won't lecture you." She crossed the room, stopping by the table to grab the keys. "I've found that pushing people to believe in something they don't understand only drives them farther away. Besides, I'd rather not have my religion overpopulated with pretend believers. If you want to believe in the Light, you'll find it and accept it in your own way. For now, as long as you're a decent person, that's enough for me." She picked up the keys and the candle, glancing at me over her shoulder. "Come with me."

I did so without a word, blowing out the lights in the kitchen and allowing her to lock the door. The dishes could wait until morning. It would give me a great excuse to see her again.

I followed her down the hallway and out the side door from the church into the yard. She locked that door, too, and then we continued forth across the yard.

It was pitch black outside, the candlelight yielding against a moonless sky. The stars twinkled brightly, their glow uncompromised tonight. The yard looked different this way, dark shadows playing against the bushes and trees, skittering about as we passed through with the bright, golden glow of the candle. I could smell the fragrance of the flowers in the air, a light breeze picking up and spreading the aroma effectively.

Finally, Katlayna moved through the curtain of branches of a weeping willow tree, leaning against its trunk, her head lowered. I stood beside her and waited, wondering what we were here for, why she stopped. She placed the candle on the ground and looked up at me, and I could see tears brimming her eyes, glistening in the candlelight, her expression pained.

"Katlyana, what's wrong? Is—"

"I leave for Stormwind tomorrow," she blurted out in a rush.

I blinked, stared, taking a moment to allow this to sink in. The breeze whispered through the vines of the willow tree, teasing our hair as it did so. Stormwind. That was quite a ways south from here. It would take Katlayna about a month just to get there. So she was going on a long trip. "I heard it is an interesting place. Not everyone gets to travel outside of Quel'Thalas. Why so sad?"

Katlayna sighed, looking away. "I'll be gone for at least a year. Lordaeron is closer, with a stronger history of the Light. However, there is no space available for me there right now, so they assigned me to Stormwind instead. I…I should be excited, and I am. I'll be studying exclusively under the followers of the Light there, people that understand it a lot better than anyone here. But after meeting you…I wish I could have had more time to spend with you before leaving."

Her face was turned away, making it impossible for me to read her expression. She'd be gone for Stormwind for at least a year. Tonight would be the last night I'd see her for some time. A pang of sadness washed over me - I would miss her too, the girl I had met only this morning. How did that come to pass? But at least it was nice to know that she would miss me, that she cared enough about me to have such strong feelings about this.

I sighed, collecting her in my arms for a hug. She turned to me, burying her face in my chest, hands clinging to my shoulders as I wrapped my arms around her. "A year without seeing you is a long time," I confessed. In a high elf's lifespan, one year was nothing to worry about. But it seemed a whole lot longer knowing that I wouldn't see Katlayna's smile in that time, wouldn't hear her voice…

I realized that she was trembling, muffled sniffles coming from her. She was crying. Feeling awful, I pulled her gently away, brushing back the tears that streamed down her lovely face with my fingers. "I'm no one special to cry over," I tried to reassure her. "You don't need to—"

She was the one that initiated the kiss this time, launching herself up on her tiptoes until her lips met mine.

My eyes fluttered closed, surprised and pleased by this turn of events, and kissed her back, my fingers cradling the side of her face, gently stroking her hair.

We stood there for many long moments, our kisses slow, gentle. I could tell she wasn't an overly experienced kisser; there was an edge of apprehension to her movements, always mimicking my own as though seeking ideas on how to properly kiss me. I didn't mind at all; her kisses were sweet, she was learning quickly how I liked to be kissed, and I enjoyed the taste of her, the feel of her mouth over mine.

Our kisses grew bolder, more passionate, tongues taking the time to explore each other, electricity sparking so strongly between us. I wanted so much more, but I tried to ignore my body's urges, knowing that I was supposed to assure her that I wasn't the lecherous prick Ostus almost made me out to be. Besides, she was a priestess. Should we really be doing this? Then again, I had no idea of how Katlayna's religion handled things like love and sex.

The ends of her robe fell away, never secured around her very tightly to begin with, and she pressed her body against mine, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling in to deepen the kiss. I placed my hands on her body, wanting so much to touch every inch of her, but having enough will power to keep them away from the places they shouldn't be. I caressed her shoulders, her back, gripping at her waist. The fabric of her nightgown, which felt enticingly thin, rolled loosely beneath my fingers, my hands sending my mind better ideas of what her body must look like.

_Our first and last night together, for a very long time…_

"Barian." She uttered my name in a throaty whisper as she broke our kiss, her voice laced with lust, my body raging in reaction to her positive response to me.

I looked at her, this gorgeous woman in my arms, wondering if I should attempt to push things further with Katlayna after all, unsure of how far I should try, wishing we were already in a private room, under the sheets on some bed, with me trapped in her most intimate embrace, the warmth of her body, her passion... She looked back at me with a tender expression, lips swollen and slightly parted from our kissing, her eyes glowing brightly from the dim candlelight.

"I…I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice so soft and frail against the thickness of the night, her gaze shifting regretably away from me.

My heart sank, but I forced myself to smile, taking a courteous step back, reminding myself that we had only just met, that I shouldn't be falling so perfectly into Ostus's assumptions of earlier.

Katlayna wrapped the robe around herself and tied it tightly in place, looking at me apologetically. Lust lingered in her gaze, dying quickly while I combed my fingers through my hair in agitation, trying to ignore the uncomfortable effects of physical rejection.

Katlayna touched my face, urging me to look at her. "It's hard enough to leave you as it is," she explained in a soft voice. "The further we continue, the harder it'll be for me, for probably the both of us, to part."

_Why can't you stay?_ I wanted to blurt out, to _scream_ at her face, my heart suddenly a tempest of emotions. _Why can't you just stay with me? So what if we've only known each other for a day…_ But that was the thing. Katlayna had dreams of her own like I did, life goals, and they involved leaving here. For as much as I cared for her, I couldn't hold her back from what she wanted, knowing full well the struggle to realize my own dreams. The Light was important to her—our many long conversations of earlier in the day made that indication clear. Who was I, some man she only knew for a day, to take her away from that? And I knew, deep down though I did not want to admit it, that going further with her would have made this understanding all that much harder to take. Making love to her, opening my heart to her, would only make it hurt worse when she decided to leave. I contemplated coming with her instead, to start my career over again in Stormwind. I didn't know a soul outside of Quel'Thalas, however, didn't know the cuisine of other races aside from high elves. I didn't have the connections I did here, the resources. How long would I have to struggle to make a name for myself in Stormwind, if ever? Could I endure it all for a woman I've known for only a day? _If you love her, yes._ But did I? Was it possible for me to fall in love with someone so quickly? Did I really love her? If so, wasn't this newfound love also worth waiting for? A year or so apart wasn't so bad. Humans only lived for so long. I had centuries to spend with Katlayna.

"I understand," I heard myself say.

Katlayna hugged me tightly, obviously grateful for my answer. "I'm sorry for misleading you. I...I've never felt this way towards anyone before. I was unprepared for how strong those feelings could be."

Such a torturous statement, considering holding her close like this made me think of nothing but of trying to continue our activity of a few minutes ago. I didn't act upon those urges, however, grateful that I was able to hug her on this night instead of being still inside scrubbing dishes alone.

"It's only a year or so," Katlayna murmured, starting to sound a bit tired.

I yawned, reminded of my own exhaustion. It had been a very long day indeed. "Yeah," I whispered back. One year was still too long to me.

"Perhaps we could write to each other."

"Perhaps." I liked the thought, a way to keep in touch.

She looked up at me, then, excitement mixed with exhaustion in her eyes. "I'll write you as soon as I get to Stormwind," she said, firmly. "I promise."

I looked back down at her, gorgeous Katlayna, knowing in my heart that she would keep that promise. "And I'll be waiting for that letter, and your return. I promise."

We held each other tight, the weight of our promises, and the burden of the upcoming wait lingering in our thoughts. I closed my eyes, picturing Katlayna's face, the way she felt at that moment, her scent, her voice, wanting to lock it all in my memory.

It would be the last time I'd see her for several years. Perhaps if I would have known this, known that I'd see her next through the fel green eyes of a slave to our society's downfall, I would have never let her go. But on this warm night, like every single other night on peaceful, tranquil Quel'Thalas enchanted in an everlasting spring by the power of the Sunwell, I thought only of how I was going to deal with that first year, that Katlayna would soon return to the glorious country of the high elves.

It was fortunate that I kept the image of her sweet smile in my memory, for the next time I'd see her, she'd hold nothing but hatred for me.

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
